


Immersed

by ember_firedrake



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Episode Tag, M/M, Reunions, Silver accepting that he's in too deep, and feelings, lots of water imagery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 08:39:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6147928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ember_firedrake/pseuds/ember_firedrake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For bekleevie on tumblr, who wanted the goodbye scene missing from 3x06 and their reunion later with Silver finding out about the duel and confronting Flint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Immersed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kleevie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kleevie/gifts).



Silver trained his spyglass towards the ocean. There was no mistaking that flag. The _Walrus_ was returning. He leaned against one of the trees on the edge of the beach, not wanting to venture onto sand wearing the boot just yet. 

When the Maroons had spotted sails on the horizon an hour ago, they’d permitted him to come to the beach with them. Although Silver’s leg was feeling somewhat better after their treatments, the trek back through the jungle had been arduous, and Silver had not expected any of their new allies to offer a shoulder as Flint had. He’d fashioned a makeshift crutch, unwilling to remain at the camp when he was anxious to see his crew again. 

For all of his fears about being drawn into Flint’s orbit, Silver could not help but feel a certain anticipation about seeing the captain as well. It occurred to him, the last time he had been ashore awaiting Captain Flint’s return had been when his own fate was still uncertain, and Flint was returning with the _Andromache’s_ guns. It felt like a lifetime ago, although in reality it was less than a year. 

So much had changed since then, not in the least the loss of his leg. So much, it seemed, had changed just in this span of Flint’s absence. 

_“What do you mean, you’re staying?” Flint asked. The displeasure was evident in his tone, but even without that Silver could see in his face how much Flint didn’t want this._

_“Someone ought to remain behind to ensure this alliance holds,” Silver said. He prayed Flint would attribute the sheen of sweat on his forehead to the jungle heat, and not the fever he felt at the edges of his awareness. “If you leave some random crewman behind they could take it as an insult. They know I’m the quartermaster; it will earn their respect if I remain.”_

_“And what about you and I, speaking with one voice?” Flint’s tone was almost accusatory. “I need to get Vane and the fleet back if we are to achieve our ends for Nassau, and I’ll be able to do that best with you beside me.”_

_Something lurched within Silver. He felt it, the almost magnetic draw of Flint’s personality. If he lowered his guard he knew it would be easy to get pulled into that vortex. He must put Flint off, but not in a way that would be hurtful. “Ah, Captain Vane,” he said. “I’m not so sure I would be the best choice to persuade him. I tried it in Charles Town, when he took the ship. That man does not make decisions at anyone’s behest—only when the circumstances are aligned that he believes he has made his own choice.”_

_“That’s exactly the sort of insight I would value with you making this journey,” Flint said, the anger in his voice giving way to something softer._

_Silver opened his mouth, another argument as his lips, when a fresh wave of pain overcame him. He drew in breath with an audible hiss, nostrils flaring as he felt his leg throb._

_Concern flitted across Flint’s face. “You’re in pain,” he said._

_“I’m fine,” Silver said, schooling his features calm again._

_Flint pressed his lips together, as though there was more he wanted to say but could not decide how it would be received. Finally, he said, “You’re not...but I understand.”_

_Silver felt frayed, like a banner left too long in the ocean breeze. Flint’s tone echoed Silver’s own attempts to reach out to the captain._ But I understand it. I understand the allure of ensuring that no one will ever think you the villain you fear you are.

_Silver swallowed, not meeting Flint’s eyes. He was falling, floundering. Losing pieces of himself, both in the literal and figurative sense. A hand on his shoulder brought his gaze back up, and he found Flint looking at him with some indefinable expression._

_“I will return,” Flint said._

Silver watched the _Walrus_ drop anchor, trepidation setting his pulse pounding. Nothing had happened to alter his fears; there was still the risk of drowning in Flint’s depths. Why then, was he so keen to see the man again? 

It wasn’t just his leg that had chafed, in these weeks of Flint’s absence. He was surprised by how much his role on the ship had come to mean, as mediator between Flint and the crew. Feeling wanted, feeling _needed_. Not seeing expressions of pity wherever he turned, as he had these last few days. 

A boat was lowered into the water carrying several crew members including the Maroons who had accompanied the _Walrus_. Silver abandoned his crutch by the tree—with the crew’s return he would not be seen using it—and made his way steadily towards the water. He reached the beach just as the boat came ashore with a crunch of wet sand. 

“Were you successful?” Silver asked as Billy approached. 

Billy let out a huff. “Well, we have Vane’s support again, as much good as that will do us. We don’t have his fleet. There was a duel—”

Dread settled heavy in Silver’s gut as he realized Flint was not in the boat. Blood rushed in his ears. “Where’s Flint?”

“On the ship,” Billy said, which allayed Silver’s fears, but only just. “He dueled Blackbeard and would have lost if not for Vane’s interference.”

“He did _what?_ ”

Silver would have paced if his leg would have allowed it. Instead he stood there, seething, while the rest of the crew disembarked from the boat and stepped forward to greet the Maroons, who had emerged from the jungle bearing fresh supplies. It would take several trips to refit the ship before her journey to Nassau, Silver knew, but he could wait no longer before returning. It was all he could do not to bark orders, and when they finally loaded the boat up he claimed a spot at the bow. 

The boat cut through the water slowly, giving Silver time to turn over his thoughts. It was not enough that he'd talked Flint out of a suicidal venture with the Maroon queen, if he had only planned to throw it away in a fight with the most notorious pirate who ever lived. And again, Silver was forced to admit it bothered him. The very idea of Flint’s mortality _bothered_ him. Even more than the fear that pulled at him whenever he thought of the dark corners of Flint’s mind and those who had never surfaced from them. 

Much as he feared losing himself, somehow, the idea of losing Flint terrified him _more_. 

As soon as the deck of the Walrus was beneath him again, Silver made his way immediately to Flint’s cabin. Recollection that Vane was aboard pulled him up short, as he paused to knock on the door he otherwise would have stormed through. 

“Enter.”

Flint looked surprised when Silver entered—he'd probably expected him to still be at the camp. His expression flickered, eyes softening for the briefest of moments before they returned to their typical coolness. Vane sat opposite the large desk. 

“Captain, might I have a word?” Silver asked, keeping his agitation hidden. 

Flint nodded. “Captain Vane, if you'll give us the room?” 

Vane rose, stalking from the room not unlike some large predator. Even in the months since their alliance, Silver could not help his slight feeling of unease regarding the man. He was too aware of how close he'd come to death at Vane’s hands. 

As soon as the door clicked shut, Flint said “You're looking better.”

“You dueled Blackbeard?” Silver demanded. “ _Blackbeard?_ Have you no regard for how much—how much this plan _depends_ on having you as its figurehead?”

“It was necessary,” Flint said, though his expression shifted again, brows furrowed. Had he read into Silver’s hesitation? 

“ _Necessary?_ I wish I had been there. I might have been able to prevent your foolhardy actions.”

“You were right.”

“I—right about what?” Silver faltered, prepared to argue more but caught off guard by Flint’s admission. 

“What you said about Vane. When I met with him and it became clear he didn't wish to honor our agreement, I knew no amount of persuasion would work. I had to align the circumstances so he would come to his own choice.”

“You...orchestrated the duel with Blackbeard expecting Vane would interfere?” Silver asked, impressed in spite of himself.

“Vane’s code is such that he would never be able to stomach an affair of honor fought for his sake. Whoever won the duel, he would have grown to resent.” 

“So you needed him to interfere in your favor.”

Flint nodded. He winced, inhaling sharply, and Silver’s amazement that Flint had survived his ordeal was abruptly replaced with worry. 

“You're in pain,” he said. 

“I'm fine,” Flint insisted.

“No, you're not,” Silver said, echoing what Flint had said before he left. 

Silver saw the flash of recollection on Flint’s face, knew he remembered the details of that conversation. Finally, Flint said, “It’s my shoulder. Teach slashed it with his sword. Dr. Howell stitched me up. It will be fine.” 

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Silver said, stepping around the desk to where Flint sat. Flint tracked his movements, but did nothing to hinder him as Silver stepped up close. He could see the shoulder Flint favored, and after a moment’s hesitation Flint tugged his collar open and down to reveal the wound. Flint was quiet as Silver looked at the wound. True to what he’d said, Dr. Howell’s stitches looked good. There was no sign of infection that Silver could see. 

“Your leg seems better than it was,” Flint said, after a moment.

Silver swallowed, even in that quiet moment feeling himself drawn towards Flint. Some part of himself wanted to succumb to that pull, even knowing the dangers. “It doesn’t hurt quite as badly today,” he admitted.

Silver reached out, fingertips brushing the skin around the stitches to check for inflammation or fever. Flint drew in a soft breath, and even without looking at his face Silver could tell Flint’s defenses were laid bare. Was this how it had happened? At one point, Silver had thought himself above being drawn into Flint’s orbit, confident in his ability to keep his priorities on the Urca gold. Had it begun that day when Flint sat across from him in the Spanish warship, and exposed his fears that people might think him a villain? Or, earlier than that, the moment Silver had found Flint sobbing over Gates’ body? Had Silver been caught the moment he saw this man’s vulnerable side, unaware of the danger until he found himself between the Scylla and Charybdis?

And there _was_ danger here, Silver knew. Flint left a wake so tumultuous it was impossible to pull away now, even if he wanted to. Gates had made that mistake, attempting to bail when the danger became too great. Mrs. Barlow had remained by his side but had then become a casualty. If he was to survive this, it would be as Flint had weathered the hurricane, lashing himself to the ship and praying that would bear him through to the other side. 

Flint’s hand reached up, covering Silver’s on his shoulder. Flint turned his head, grey-green eyes meeting Silver’s. And Silver knew, with a bone-deep awareness, that he could not— _would_ not—try to unfetter himself from whatever linked him to this man. He would descend into those depths, if necessary, but he would do everything in his power to keep Flint from succumbing to them as well. He would bear them both to keep the tide from overwhelming them.


End file.
